


Every Step You Take

by BeckyHarvey29



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 5x12 never happened, Boyfriends, Love, M/M, Paralysis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:56:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3874744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeckyHarvey29/pseuds/BeckyHarvey29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Mickey may never walk again and Ian isn't going anywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Step You Take

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Italiano available: [Ogni tuo passo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4049290) by [MaryFangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryFangirl/pseuds/MaryFangirl)



> This idea came to me out of nowhere and I decided to run with it. Admittedly, I don't know much about paralysis or the physical therapy required for it, so if anything seems farfetched, I'm sorry! Let me know what you think, kudos and comments very much welcomed :)

_Day 1_

"There's a very good chance that Mickey may never be able to walk again."

Every other sound in the room became background noise as soon as those words resonated in Ian's mind. He numbly sat down in the chair behind him, momentarily forgetting how to breathe—feeling as if he had just gotten punched in the chest.

Ian slowly closed his eyes and gripped the arms of the chair so tight that his knuckles turned white. He wasn't crying yet; he was too numb to cry. He just sat frozen, listening to Mandy sobbing and the droning sound of the doctor's voice as he spoke.

"Can I see him?" Ian asked dumbly, suddenly finding his voice. He opened his eyes to find Mandy and the doctor regarding him sadly. "I need to see him." 

"He's still under from the surgery," the doctor explained sullenly.

Ian stood up abruptly. "I don't fucking care! I want to see him, now!"

"Ian," Mandy said, reaching out to touch his arm in an attempt to calm him, but he roughly shook her off. 

"I wanna see my fucking boyfriend," he said flatly. 

The doctor nodded stiffly and then motioned with a wave of his clipboard for Ian to follow him.

Ian glanced back at Mandy, who looked just as shocked and distraught as he felt. "I'll be right back, okay?" he said, gingerly touching her shoulder. After Mandy's curt nod, Ian turned and followed the doctor out of the waiting room and down the hall to the post-op room where Mickey was. 

As soon as the doctor stepped aside and Ian was allowed to enter the room, a sob escaped his mouth at the sight before him.

The doctor excused himself and shut the door behind him, but none of that registered to Ian. 

Mickey looked almost unrecognizable in the small hospital bed. His head was bandaged from where his forehead had hit the dashboard. Both of his legs were in casts and a metal brace was wrapped around his middle.

His face was pale and hollow-looking. He had two black and blue eyes from his broken nose. 

Ian felt the hot tears finally spill down his cheeks as he took the first few tentative steps into the room.

It didn't really seem fair to Ian. Mickey's brother Colin had been the one driving. Colin had been the one intoxicated. Colin had been the one to walk away from the accident with barely a scratch and a sprained wrist.

Ian pushed his anger aside for the moment as he stood next to the bed and stared helplessly down at Mickey. He knew Mickey couldn't hear him, but he spoke anyway, his words barely audible.

"Hey, Mick." 

Gingerly, he reached a hand up and slipped his hand through Mickey's limp one. "Fuck," he sobbed as his eyes trailed over Mickey, his eyes landing on his legs. 

_Mickey may never be able to walk again...never be able to walk again...never...walk..._

Ian curled in and buried his face against Mickey's shoulder and cried—deep, heaving, gut-wrenching sobs; knowing, deep down, that their lives would never be the same again. 

Mickey would never be the same again.

*

A few hours later, Ian opened his eyes to find Mandy standing over him. He blinked completely awake and lifted his heavy head. He looked around in confusion for a moment before remembering where he was.

It hadn't been a nightmare.

"Hey. You fell asleep," Mandy said solemnly. 

Ian glanced towards the bed to find that Mickey was still out of it. He swallowed thickly and looked away. He even avoided Mandy's eyes; it hurt too much to see her pain, which matched his own. "Has he woken up at all?"

"No, doctor says it could be a little while," Mandy said, hitting him in the arm and motioning for him to move over in the chair. She sat down, half on his lap and half not, and rested her head against his shoulder. "What are we going to do?" she asked after a long pause. "He's gonna—"

"I know." Ian closed his eyes when her breath hitched and he fought back his own oncoming onslaught of tears. 

"This is going to kill him, not being able to walk ever again; having to rely on other people to take care of him. That's the last thing he wants."

"It should have been fucking Colin," Ian spat, forgetting for a moment that Colin was Mandy's brother, too.

"Colin is beating himself up pretty bad over this," Mandy defended. She then burst into tears, pressing her face into Ian's chest. 

Ian wrapped an arm around her and comforted her as his eyes landed on Mickey again. He chewed on his lower lip and allowed himself to cry along with her.

*

After Mandy had gone down to the cafeteria to get coffee, Ian paced back and forth across the hospital room. Every half an hour a doctor or nurse would poke their head inside to see if anything had changed, but nothing had so far.

As Ian was letting his nerves get the best of him and his pacing continued, he heard a noise from behind him and he froze, sucking in a deep breath before turning around. Sure enough, Mickey's eyes were open and he was watching Ian, a blank look on his face.

"Mickey," Ian breathed out, taking long strides over to the side of the bed. He engulfed Mickey's face in his hands and pressed his forehead to Mickey's. 

Mickey made a dry, choking sound. 

Ian pulled away and searched frantically behind himself before spotting the pitcher of water and a small paper cup. He filled the cup and then brought it to Mickey's lips and helped him hold his head up as he took a few sips. 

Mickey nodded when he was done and then allowed his head to drop back to the pillow. "What the fuck happened?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly, still obviously disoriented. 

Ian had insisted on being the one to tell Mickey. He knew there was the whole risk of Mickey hating the messenger, but Ian wanted to be the one to deliver the news; not some fucking douchebag in a white coat who couldn't give two shits. 

Ian smoothed Mickey's hair back as he tried to find the right words. But, really, what were the right fucking words?

"What the fuck's going on?" Mickey asked again, his voice rough. 

"You were in an accident, Mick," Ian began, his eyes searching Mickey's face, watching as his features twisted into a frown. "You and Colin were out driving; Colin was drunk," his voice trailed off as he swallowed the lump in his throat and blinked back his tears. He knew he had to keep it together and be strong for Mickey. Mickey had been his rock through everything; it was time for Ian to be the rock now.

Mickey stared up at the ceiling, moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes. He didn't say anything for a long time. Then, "Is Colin okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he's okay," Ian said, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. The next words out of his mouth broke his own heart. "But you're not." 

Mickey swallowed visibly as he continued staring at the ceiling. A lone tear slid from his eye, over his temple, and down into his hair. 

"Mickey," Ian began, crying again. "You injured your spine. They said—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Mickey lifted his hands and dug his fingers into his own hair, his face scrunching up with emotion. "Shut the fuck up." 

"Mick."

"Just shut the fuck up!" 

Ian recoiled and took a step back. He looked away and rubbed at his runny nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. 

Mickey continued grasping his head, his chest heaving rapidly as he squeezed his eyes shut. After what seemed like too long, he finally spoke. "What the fuck's wrong with me?" 

"They—they said you might not be able to walk again," Ian said, his words hanging miserably in the air. 

Mickey moved his hands from his hair and then cupped his face as gut-wrenching sobs racked through him. 

Ian took the few steps towards the bed and climbed into it next to Mickey. Even though Mickey fought and resisted him at first, Ian was able to get his arms around him and he cradled Mickey gingerly to his chest, not wanting to hurt him. "I'm so fucking sorry, Mickey," he whispered into Mickey's hair. 

Finally, Mickey gave in and relaxed against Ian and cried into Ian's chest. 

"I'm so sorry," Ian muttered into Mickey's hair, squeezing his eyes shut against his own tears as he held on for dear life.

*

_Day 2_

The next morning, Ian blinked his eyes open and then groaned when the harsh sunlight hit his sore, sensitive eyes. He had spent the whole night before holding Mickey and crying with him and had passed out from sheer emotional exhaustion alone.

He glanced down at Mickey, who was sleeping tucked against him. Even though Ian's arm was numb, he didn't dare wake him; not wanting Mickey to have to face his new reality any sooner than he had to.

The sound of the door opening forced him to tear his eyes away and he watched as Mandy entered the room. 

"Hey," Mandy said softly, her eyes falling on her sleeping brother.

"Hey," Ian whispered back. He bent down and placed a kiss on Mickey's temple before carefully sliding his arm out from under his boyfriend. He then walked over to Mandy and accepted the proffered coffee. 

"I came back last night but you two were sleeping," Mandy explained. "So, I left." 

Ian took a sip of his bland, lukewarm coffee.

"So, does he know?"

"Yeah, he knows," Ian said solemnly. 

"How'd he take it?" Mandy asked, sounding as if she knew it was a dumb question before it even left her mouth. 

"About as bad as I'd expected him to," Ian said, sneaking another sad look at Mickey. 

"The doctor said he's going to need physical therapy. A lot of physical therapy," Mandy said numbly. "I don't know how we're going to do it. We have no money, he has no insurance." 

"We don't have to think about that right now," Ian said solemnly, thinking that it was stupid for anyone to have to think about such things in a time like this. He would get the money for them somehow; whether he went to Clayton or worked three jobs, he would get it.

Mandy chewed on her bottom lip. "I don't know if I can face him just yet. I don't know if I can see the look in his eyes."

"I'll stay here with him." 

Mandy nodded, her eyes swimming with tears. "I just need a few days."

Ian reached out and grabbed Mandy's shoulder, not knowing what else to say to comfort her. Once Mandy was gone, Ian turned towards the bed to find Mickey blinking awake. He placed his unwanted coffee down and walked over to the bed. "Hey, hot stuff." 

Mickey made a scoffing sound and then turned his face towards the window, staring blankly. 

"Hey," Ian said softly as he smoothed Mickey's hair away from his sweaty forehead. He wanted to ask him if he was okay, but he knew Mickey wouldn't appreciate that question. "Do you need anything?"

"No," Mickey said flatly, his eyes still focused on the window.

"Do you want some water?" Ian asked, motioning towards the pitcher.

"I said I don't want anything," Mickey said, his tone harsher. 

Ian frowned. "Well, do—"

"Look, just leave me the fuck alone, alright?" Mickey snapped, finally turning his head to look up at Ian. "Why don't you just get the fuck out of here?"

Ian pursed his lips. "I'm not going anywhere, so you can get that thought out of your head." 

"What if I don't want your ass here?"

"I know you're just talking out of anger right now, but I'm not leaving. You didn't leave me when I was going through my shit, like hell I'm leaving you."

Mickey scoffed again and shook his head. He looked back towards the window. 

"I love you, you know." 

Mickey chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes suspiciously wet as he continued looking away. 

"You know that, right?"

"Just fucking go, alright?" Mickey finally shouted. "Get the fuck out of here!"

Ian jumped slightly at his words, his tone. "Mickey—"

"Fucking go! Leave!" Mickey yelled, his tears now sliding down his cheeks. He rubbed at his cheeks angrily with the back of his hands. "You don't fucking need this! You don't deserve this! To spend the rest of your fucking life taking care of a goddamn cripple!"

"I don't fucking care about that, Mickey!" Ian yelled back, suddenly pissed off. "I care about _you_. I'm not letting you fucking push me away! You're stuck with me, asshole!"

"Yeah, well, I don't fucking want you, so get your ass the fuck out of here!" Mickey yelled back, sweeping his arm out and knocking the full pitcher of water and his breakfast tray onto the floor with a loud clatter. 

Ian stared dumbfounded at the mess on the floor. He then lifted his red-rimmed eyes to Mickey's. Mickey briefly looked at him before looking away. "Okay," Ian said after a long pause. "I'll go. But I'll be back. I'm not going anywhere, Mickey." 

He turned and left the hospital room. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but he knew it was what Mickey needed. Mickey needed to feel in control of something at the moment, and Ian was damned if he wasn't going to give him the space he needed.

*

_Day 8_

Almost a whole week passed. A week in which Ian showed up at the hospital every single day. A week in which Mickey ignored him and refused to even look at him. Instead, Ian sat in the chair across the room and alternated between watching Mickey stare blankly out the window and watching the TV mounted on the wall.

Every night when he reluctantly left, he would tell Mickey he loved him and he'd be back the next day.

Mickey never responded.

*

_Day 15_

Ian showed up at the hospital as soon as visiting hours started to find Mandy sitting in the chair by the window. Mickey was fast asleep on the bed.

"How is he?" Ian asked.

"Same," Mandy said, looking tired and rough around the edges. "He still doesn't want to talk about any of it."

"Still doesn't want to see me?" Ian asked sadly.

Mandy just gave him a look that said everything.

Ian nodded gently. He placed a soft kiss against Mickey's temple before leaving.

*

_Day 18_

Ian walked into the room carrying five over-sized, helium-filled balloons and a life-sized stuffed gorilla holding a heart. Without saying anything, and feeling Mickey's disapproving glare on him the entire time, he placed the items next to the bed and then left the room, a small smile pulling at his lips as he went.

*

_Day 22_

Ian walked into the room to find Mickey alone and awake, staring up at the TV. 

"Hi."

Like always, Mickey refused to look at him. Ian continued anyway, undeterred. "I brought you some magazines," he said, holding up the Guns and Ammo magazines he'd brought with him. "I may have snuck a Play Girl in there, too." When Mickey didn't laugh, Ian continued. "I also brought you these," he said, pulling the two Snickers bars from his pocket. "Well, one's for me."

He studied Mickey's profile, watched as his Adam's apple bobbed. "Jesus, Mickey, would you at least look at me?!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with emotion. "Why are you pushing me away? I've been here every single day for the past three weeks. If that doesn't fucking show you that I'm in this, that you're it for me—" He allowed his voice to trail off. 

He then nodded curtly, keeping his tears at bay as he placed the magazines and candy bars down on the bedside table. "Okay. Okay, I'll go. But I'm coming back whether you want me to or not." He walked out of the hospital room and to the elevators as tears streamed down his face.

*

_Day 31_

Ian walked into the room to find Mandy sitting in the chair and the bed was empty. "Where is he?" he asked, placing the twenty-four pack of lime Jello on the bedside table. 

"They're starting him on occupational therapy," Mandy said as she flipped through a magazine. "He's been fighting them tooth and nail on it, but he finally caved." 

"What's that?" Ian asked, hating the fact that Mickey was doing something like that on his own. He desperately wanted to be with him.

"I guess they're just talking to him about everything, making sure he understands everything about the treatment and recovery and barriers and shit he's going to have to go through. Needless to say, he's over the moon about it," Mandy said dryly. 

Ian nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Mandy gnawed on her bottom lip. "They say in a couple weeks he might be able to move to a rehab center and actually start physical therapy." 

Ian didn't want to allow himself to hope, but he couldn't help it. 

"They say it's possible that he could regain at least some use of his legs." 

Ian looked down at his shaky hands.

Neither one of them said anything else, each lost in their own thoughts.

*

_Day 41_

Ian walked into the room to find Mickey sitting up in bed, half-heartedly eating his lunch. "Hey."

Silence.

"What're you eating?"

Silence.

"Smells good, whatever it is."

Mickey's eyes flickered in Ian's direction and his chewing noticeably slowed. "Tastes like shit," he finally mumbled, and it was the most words Mickey had spoken to Ian in weeks. 

Ian smiled gingerly and walked further into the room. He held up the magazines and Slim Jims he had brought with him. 

Mickey eyed Ian up before looking away. 

"How's the therapy going?" 

"Getting moved next week," Mickey said sullenly after a loaded pause. "Though it's not going to make much of a difference. I'm going to be a fucking cripple for the rest of my life."

"You don't know that."

Mickey laughed dryly and gave Ian a dark look. "Save your positive bullshit for someone else, Gallagher."

The nickname stung, but Ian kept a straight face. "Nothing wrong with being hopeful," he said with a shrug. 

"Yeah, well, you're a fucking idiot if you have hope," Mickey said, slamming his fork down. 

"If anyone can get through this, it's you," Ian said evenly after a long pause. "You're the strongest person I know." 

Mickey ran a hand over his face. "Strong?" he asked with an unamused chuckle. "You think I look fucking strong to you?" he snapped, lifting his head. "Look at me! I'm fucking pathetic!"

Ian took a step forward, but stopped once he saw Mickey's expression. 

"Leave. _Go_. Go fuck someone else and move the fuck on! There's no hope for me here. There's no hope for _us_ here."

"Mickey, how can you fucking say th—"

"You think you're going to want to fuck this?!" Mickey yelled, motioning down to his limp legs. "You gonna want to fuck a guy in a goddamn wheelchair for the rest of your life, huh?" 

Ian didn't say anything. He strode over to the bed and climbed on. He then carefully straddled Mickey. "You think I give a shit, huh?" he breathed in Mickey's face. "You think I fucking care if you're in a wheelchair? Well, fuck you!" 

Mickey stared up at Ian unblinking, his Adam's apple bobbing. 

Ian reached down between them and palmed Mickey's hardening dick through his hospital gown. "Seems like it still fucking works to me," he said. "And—even if it didn't—I still wouldn't leave, you goddamn asshole. I love you. _All_ of you—every stubborn, obnoxious, idiot part of you!"

Mickey closed his eyes and let out an unsteady breath.

Ian leaned down and pressed his forehead to Mickey's. "I'm not going anywhere, so do us both a favor and stop being such a stubborn prick." 

"You deserve more than this," Mickey murmured. 

"Like hell I do. You didn't leave me through my shit—when I wouldn't get out of bed, when I kidnapped your fucking kid, ran off with my mom. You stuck by my ass. I'll be damned if I'm going to leave you for this." He leaned down the last couple of inches and slotted his mouth against Mickey's, kissing him for the first time in weeks. 

Ian sighed in relief against Mickey's mouth when he felt Mickey's arms finally wrap around him. He pulled away from the tender kiss and buried his face in Mickey's neck. 

Mickey kissed Ian's temple and then whispered shakily next to Ian's ear, "Need you." 

"I'm here," Ian whispered back before kissing Mickey again. "Alright? I'm here. I ain't going anywhere."

Mickey nodded and held on tighter.

*

_Eight Months Later_

In true Mickey Milkovich fashion, physical therapy was a bitch. He fought and demanded and smart-mouthed his way through most of it, giving every physical therapist hell most days. 

Ian was surprised they had all stuck around. 

For eight months—six days a week—Mickey worked like hell to regain use of his legs. Even though he would never regain full use of his legs, everyone was fairly optimistic that he would one day be able to walk again with the use of crutches.

Every day, Ian was by his side, cheering Mickey on and celebrating with him in every victory, no matter how big or small.

Ian had kept his word. He wasn't going anywhere. 

The day Mickey took his first full step—with the help of rails and a firm grip from the physical therapist of course—was a day Ian would never forget. 

"Mick!" Ian cried in excitement as he watched his boyfriend unsteadily step forward. "You did it! You fucking did it!"

Mickey lifted his head and couldn't help the grin from spreading across his own face. He brought his left foot shakily forward and took his second step in over ten months. 

Ian beamed as he walked alongside Mickey, holding onto his arm for extra support. 

Mickey took a third and final step, the excursion finally becoming too much and he had to take a break. 

Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey's neck and inhaled him as he buried his face in Mickey's shoulder.

Holding onto the rail firmly with one hand and wrapping his free arm around Ian's waist with the other, he buried his face against Ian's neck, his cheeks wet with tears. "Love you," he mumbled. 

"I love you, too, Mick," Ian said back. "So fucking much."

Suddenly, the future didn't seem so bleak. As long as they had each other, they knew they could get through anything.


End file.
